Becoming Undone
by aquaXtreme
Summary: She comes to the conclusion that kissing is nothing more than a waste of time. That and it's completely unhygienic. Irene/Sherlock


**_Hey guys!_**

**_All I'm going to say is that it's about time Irene got added to_** the**_ character list! ;)_**

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><p>Joseph Brookes is her first kiss, one that's purely experimental on her part.<p>

At the age of 13, it's already becoming painfully obvious to everyone she meets that Irene Adler will turn out to be a beauty later on in her life. And she's slowly becoming more aware of that fact herself.

She's been itching to know how kisses work, having seen the older teens do it tons of times around their school, smashing their lips against each other like there's no tomorrow. Her curiosity eventually leads to her dragging the poor boy unawares behind a wall during one break time and hesitantly connecting her lips with his.

He responds more than happily, a delighted grin finding his way onto his face. She shivers visibly, not through delight but rather disgust as his saliva mingles with hers. After satisfying her curiosity, she shoves him away and wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her school jumper before walking away with her head held high.

She comes to the conclusion that kissing is nothing more than a waste of time. That and it's completely unhygienic.

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><p>Patrick Jones becomes her second kiss, based solely on the urges of her friends as they play Seven Minutes in Heaven, a game which, in her opinion, is completely and utterly pathetic. But she plays anyway because she has nothing better to do with her time.<p>

They're both pushed into a cramped closet before the door slams shut behind them, the sound of muffled giggling coming from the other side. She squints through the darkness, barely able to see the outline of her partner. And, before she knows it, she's pressed up against the door with his lips on hers. She rolls her eyes at his expected testosterone behaviour but she lets him slobber all over her mouth anyway because she's bored and he's the best kiss she's had so far.

Exactly seven minutes later, her friends open the closet door with smirks adorning their faces and she immediately takes his hands off of her body and walks out, leaving him behind panting heavily.

She's barely broken a sweat.

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><p>Dylan Hutch goes down in history as Irene's first boyfriend.<p>

He's the stereotypical jock and she's the stereotypical trophy girlfriend on his arm. Together, they become their year's power couple and are seen as absolute perfection by the other students. She starts to adore the sense of complete power her role as 'Queen Bee' gives her, loving the way the others bend to her will after spouting a few off-hand compliments.

His kisses aren't half bad; not the best but not utterly rubbish either. Except he sticks his tongue too far down her throat for her own pleasure and she's often left wondering whether he's planning on choking her through that way. Other than that, life is fine.

A week later, she's thrown him out on his sorry ass, having caught him snogging and near devouring the latest cheerleader recruit. She laughs bitterly at the high school cliché of the jock and the cheerleader.

However, Irene doesn't deny the satisfaction she gets from the whole school sneering down at the fallen jock and siding whole heartedly with her.

She's starting to become infatuated with the sense of power.

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><p>She's 18 when she learns how to use her beauty to her advantage and she's been exercising it ever since.<p>

Timothy Parkinson, chief of the school's newspaper, is her first victim, having fallen for her wit and beauty months ago. She manages to convince him to print an article about Susannah Burke, the student body president who had humiliated her publicly a few weeks ago, through a promise of a simple kiss. Irene tells herself that she's only bringing the spoilt girl down a notch or two from her over inflated ego. Susannah will thank her soon enough sometime in the future. But, for now, Irene just smirks quietly at the jeers thrown at the poor girl in the crowded hallways.

"Karma's a bitch, ain't it?" She whispers smugly in the girl's ear before walking down along the corridor, pride and satisfaction radiating from her whole body.

She hates herself for reducing the girl to tears but she pushes that guilty feeling to the back of her mind.

Susannah is only getting what she deserves.

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><p>She's 20 when she discovers that women are just as good at kissing as men, if not better.<p>

She's at her local university pub, drinking heavily and tiredly waving off any advances made towards her by any men. She's realised that every man is basically the same and she's getting bored by them, bored by the same dull game she plays with them every time.

Another figure approaches her from behind and she turns around to curse at them before stopping immediately.

It's a woman.

The red head smiles at her and starts up casual conversation but it isn't long before Irene notices the dilation in Charlotte Ross' eyes. And then the familiar curiosity within her comes alive yet again and she's overwhelmed with the desire to _know_. So she promptly grabs the red head and drags her to a dark alley, a small smirk adorning her face.

She doesn't know whether she definitely prefers women over men now.

A few hours later, she knows she doesn't when she goes home with Matthew Williams, a tall blond capable of providing her with access to his secret stash of drugs.

The little pills seem to be the only thing stimulating enough for her in Oxford University.

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><p>Throughout her years as a dominatrix, she never once hands out a single kiss.<p>

In her opinion, kissing is a sign of passion or love and those two things have no place in her job. She keeps a strictly professional and impersonal relationship with her clients, doing what needs to be done and moving on.

Not without a souvenir on her phone, of course...

She starts moving higher and higher up in the world, her business gaining more and more fame with both men and women from whatever standing. But she always chooses the ones that can offer her the most, the ones that can give her what she wants in terms of protection and information. In return, she does whatever they want her to do and whatever she feels like doing to them.

But she never, not once, hands out a kiss.

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><p>Sherlock Holmes.<p>

The only man she's ever met that genuinely fascinates and intrigues her over and over again. She's astounded by his pure brilliance and she's not lying when she says that 'brainy is the new sexy'. It's always been the 'new' sexy to her.

And she realises that she's falling for him. Hard.

And because she's Irene, she decides to initiate a game with him. Their own little game.

She's so confident that she will eventually win that she even puts his name as her password, the opportunity for word play too good to miss. So she does it. She becomes 'Sher-locked'.

And, even when she loses, a little part of her feels no regret for her actions.

She'd do it all over again if she had to.

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><p>It's been years since she saw him last, months at the very least. So she's rightly startled when Sherlock turns up at her doorstep, a man who she previously believed to be dead.<p>

"Well," She says to him as the colour eventually comes back to her face, "if I can fake my own death, then I suppose you can too."

He gives her that annoyingly _endearing _little smirk of his as he makes himself comfortable on her beige sofa after barging uninvited into her flat.

"I need to stay here for a few months, until the media dies down."

She blinks at his request, a frown slowly making its way onto her face.

"...What?"

He rolls his eyes and sighs patronisingly.

"I said-"

"No, I know what you said, " She snaps, "I just want to know why! Why here?"

"What could be better than hiding out with someone who's already dead?" He asks, glancing meaningfully at her. She squirms uncomfortably under his gaze, that long forgotten feeling slowly awakening deep within her yet again. She excuses herself to the kitchen, breathing deeply as she turns the kettle on and distracts herself from the man sitting in the next room by making tea.

When she can't put off seeing him any longer, she walks back into the sitting room with a cup of tea in each hand. She sets one down in front of Sherlock and, for a while, they both drink in silence.

She scrutinises his appearance when she thinks he isn't looking, noting down the differences since she last saw him. Overall, he's still pretty much the same. And she doesn't know whether to be happy or frustrated with the fact that she's still undeniably attracted to him.

"No," She says at last, placing her empty mug onto the coffee table. He frowns at her, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly as he focuses on her.

"No?"

"No."

"And why not?"

She can't think of any reason as to why not so she simply sits in silence.

"Miss Adler, I do believe you've lost your wit."

Her head snaps up at his smug comment, an indignant sneer making its way onto her face.

"Excuse me?" She hisses. "What on earth are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything; I'm stating it."

"Mr Holmes, if I'm not mistaken, you're the one asking me for help so I don't think it's in your position to insult me!"

He watches her outburst with faint amusement and it's not until a few seconds later that she realises he did it on purpose in order to get a reaction out of her. She scoffs slightly before grabbing their empty mugs and placing them in the kitchen sink.

She's in the middle of rinsing them when she hears him come into the kitchen and feels him stand directly behind her. She doesn't know whether he's doing _that _on purpose too.

"Irene, I need your help," He whispers, his breath tickling her right ear. She ignores him purposefully, reaching above her to open the cupboard and put the mugs back in their places. He takes over, using his height as an advantage to do the job for her. She murmurs a small thank you before starting to make her way back to the sitting room. She's suddenly stopped by a hand encircling her wrist. "Irene..."

"Look, if I could help you, I would, especially after you saved my life and all but..." She trails off, biting her lower lip in thought. She can feel his cold fingers on the underside of her wrist and she immediately realises that he's taking her pulse. Again.

"Elevated. Interesting."

"Mind your own business, " She mutters, snatching her arm away from his grip.

"I'll work for my stay. I'll do odd jobs around the flat."

"No you won't."

"You're right, I probably won't."

She laughs despite herself, turning around to face his smug smile.

"Fine. You can stay. But-" She warns, holding out an index finger to emphasise her point, "- you cannot get into any trouble."

"But that sounds so _dull_!"

"That's the whole point of hiding, my dear. Trust me, I've learnt from experience."

He nods reluctantly and she almost makes it out of the kitchen this time. Almost.

"Irene."

She raises an eyebrow at him.

"Yes?"

He observes her for a moment before a small smile lights his face.

"Thank you."

Her eyes widen at the phrase, her head cocked slightly as she goes over it in her head. Sherlock Holmes being grateful to her? She thinks about making a smart ass remark but the look on his face warns her off of it. Instead, she gives him a lingering kiss on the cheek.

"Anytime," She whispers, enjoying the look of unexpected surprise on his face.

Irene Adler can't help but think that if Sherlock Holmes is that surprised everytime she kisses him, then there'll be a hell of a lot more coming his way.

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><p><strong><em>Well, I hope you enjoyed that! I just couldn't resist adding a new story into the Irene category!<em>**

**_Thanks for reading, folks! I hope I've entertained you enough when I should've been revising for French...ugh._**

**_Au revoir! :)_**


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